April's Real Blog

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Lovey moves and Mike an' Weed watch

Mike an' Weed went 2 Lovey (cuz it's what they do), an' Mike wrote this:
April,

Little sis. Some days everything is bright and clear. Other days, the visibility is so poor that when you look at buildings or people, all you see is a vague outline and no discernible features. But then you will have something right beside the vagueness which is so clear and distinct it makes you wonder why you can’t see the things standing right next to it. I think I may need to get glasses. I thought about getting glasses a long time ago, but mom talked Elizabeth into getting them instead.

After our coffee together in his studio, Josef mentioned that even though he has not yet purchased the old apartments on Devon Road from Lovey Saltzman, she and her husband Morrie were moving out, even as we spoke, and he suggested we should go and visit and watch the moving men strain and flex their muscles against the weight of Lovey’s enormous collection of broken antiques. That sounded like a good activity to me. We got to the old house and there in front of the house was a clear and distinct moving truck with the word “Moving” on the side, with a box which apparently had been dropped on the ramp to the truck, to effectively block the way of anyone trying to move things to the truck. I whispered to Weed, “Least expensive movers in Toronto, I suppose.” Weed said, “Lovey wouldn’t have it any other way.” But when we tried to get a look at the movers, I noticed the house and the movers and even myself were hazy and indistinct. I said to myself, “It kind of defeats the purpose of coming her, if all I can see is the outline of the movers.” Then an outline approached me which could be none other than Lovey Saltzman herself, and sure enough she greeted us, me first of course, “Michael! Josef! So good to see you!!”

Then Lovey began one of those conversations in her usual style where she says a lot of things without asking or expecting a response, as if she were carrying on both parts of the conversation. She said, “Morrie and I are moving to a condominium. We should have done it years ago.---Jo told you he’s buying this place? It’s a good thing. I gave him a good price. He’ll make it nice again.” I went through what she said in my head, and the only thing I learned new over my conversation with Josef was Lovey and Morrie Saltzman were moving to a condominium and she wished she had done it before. The message was clear to me. She should have sold the apartments before the Kelpfroths moved in and burned the place, so she could get a better price for it.

Then we turned as one and looked at the old house, or rather we looked at the outline where the house was supposed to be, and Weed surprised me by saying, “We’re gonna gut all 4 apartments, put in new wiring, new plumbing---really do a job on ‘er!” I tried to think if Josef had ever dropped an “h” at the beginning of a word before. I couldn’t remember it ever happening. Was my old university roommate turning into a Cockney?

While I was thinking about Josef Weeder playing the part of Alfred P. Doolittle in a production of My Fair Lady singing “I’m Getting Married in the Morning”, everything went black around me. I could Weed clearly and Lovey clearly, but as for myself, I felt as though I had turned into a giant shadow towering over Josef. Then Josef said, “It’s a big investment, but eventually the tenants will pay it off.” “Big investment”, I thought. Was Josef referring to my sudden increase in height? No, my special punning sense revealed the humour was going to come from Lovey Saltzman. She said, “That’s true. You’re young. You’ll live long enough.” Weed looked puzzled, I think perhaps because Lovey could have said more effectively, “That’s true. You’re young enough to see it paid off before you die.” I thought about my especially humourous edited version of what Lovey said and I could not but help to laugh with a sticky-out tongue, even though I was still shrouded in darkness.

What do you think, little sis. Is my vision going, or do you experience hazy vagueness or blackness in your life?

Love,
Michael Patterson
Yeah, Mike sumtymez I have the blackness, tho mayB not "hazy vagueness." Oh, an' I vaguely remember that when Gordon took over Daly's Garage, and U went 2 C him, when U came back U sed that Gordo kept referring to the place as 'er just like U R saying Weed did abt Lovey's bldgs.

Dunc, OMG, sorry, I didn't C yr message until this morning. Pls don't run away fr. Mboro!

Apes

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13 Comments:

  • At 10:04 AM, Blogger duncan anderson said…

    Hey, Apes,

    Zed still loves me I no it.

    She likes literature so Im going 2 rite her a poem a day in my blog 2 show her how much I love her till she comes back. I no she will.

    Yr best bud,
    Duncan Anderson
    Poet

     
  • At 11:44 AM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    aw, d00d, i hope the poems work!

    apes

     
  • At 12:24 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    April,

    I am so depressed, Valentine's Day came and went and no valentines came for me, has Warren forgotten me again, what about my friend Anthony, I did not receive a two-pound chocolate truffle heart from him or even just a little candy heart with "Be Mine" on it, anyway, I have made a decision, I realize that the only way I will ever get to have children is if I do it the modern way, I had some drinks with Candace last night and she says that if I feel this way I should take matters into my own hands and go to a sperm bank, so that is what I'm doing, I took the afternoon off of work and I am going to the sperm bank in Toronto, it's called "Frozen Assets," anyway, do you want to come with me to pick out the donor, I can forge a permission slip for you and pick you up from school.

    Liz

     
  • At 1:24 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    April,

    Nevermind, as I was driving over to the high school to get you I was in the downtown where Liliput's is and I saw that there is a new store in where Hu Hung Woo's Chinese laundry used to be, now it is the "Milborough Salon of Selected Sperm," so I pulled in there and started to look through their books of donors, they include pictures so you can see what your baby will look like, but with a black-out bar over the eyes so you can't tell who they are, well it's awful, these are supposed to be upstanding Milborough men but I can't decide which one to pick, there are just too many good choices, like the guy who says, "My wife died and left me all alone in this little house on three huge lots," and "My wife won't give me any loving so we won't have anymore oops babies, so now I just play with trains," and "I am doing this to pay for groceries since our slummy apartment is expensive and we won't take handouts from my mother-in-law," and "My wife domesticated me then ran away with another man just because of a few little unrequited feelings for an old girlfriend, but that's okay, I really love astronomy," and "Ever since my mother died, I have really been getting my life together, which is good because I'm almost 60," and "I'm gay, this is the only way my genes are ever going to propagate, though I might adopt if my lover and I ever get some time off from our wildly successful business," and "I'm a wealthy local magnate who wants to be fruitful and multiply, but my hausfrau wife just wants two children and a German restaurant," and "Now that I'm retired, my wife supports us, I'm home all day just playing with my toys, like my loud leaf blower," wow, there are just so many good ones to choose from.

    Liz

     
  • At 2:17 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Gefilte fish! I really thought things couldn't get worse in that cramped divided-up Heritage House, but now I'm to move to a tiny condo?! Moreover, the domineering wife of mine gave those hippie brats such a low price for the whole thing that we made no profit whatsoever on that property -- even after renting it out for thirty years! And then she has the baitsin to make jokes about how long it takes for an investment like that to pay off. No wonder I have to sell my little swimmers to help make ends meet. Oy!

     
  • At 2:30 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    April,

    I wish I had brought you with me, my visit here at the Sperm Salon didn't go so great, I tried to make a choice and the ladies kind of made a face and said, "I'm sorry, you can't have that one, pick again," and I said, "But I like this one, he likes trains, he sounds like my dad, I want a man like my dad," and they made a face and said, "I'm sorry, you just can't have that one, pick a different one," and I thought about it and I picked the one with the annoying mother-in-law who gives gifts, I said, "I'll pick him, he has good values," and the ladies said, "No, I'm sorry, you can't have that one, you have to pick again," and I said, "Okay, how about this one who likes to play music and ride around on a shiny red scooter and make wisecracks, but is now more of the silent type, he sounds totally hilarious!" and the ladies said, "No, pick a different one," and I complained, "But why am I not allowed to have these?" and they said, "We cannot match up certain donors with certain other donors, it would be a bad idea for reasons of, er, genetic defects," and I said, "Well Patterson babies don't get defects, just babies from the Nicholses, they get babies with too many fingers," and the ladies looked at each other and then said, "In that case, you don't want this one," and threw out the guy with the loud leafblower, and I said, "I'm confused," and the ladies said, "Here," and ripped out a bunch of pages and then said, "Pick from these that are left," and I looked again and I said, "Well, I'm picking this one from the guy who used to live with his mom but then she died, I can relate, I live with my parents too," and then the ladies got upset and said, "You have to be over 18!" and I said, "But I am, I'm almost 26!" and then they frowned and said, "But do you have a job to support this baby?" and I said, "Uh-huh, I'm a teacher!" and then they said, "So why do you live at home?" and I said, "Because it seems like the natural thing to do," and the ladies said something about needing to go through some kind of process where you see a head doctor and they approve whether you are sane enough for making a baby with their sperms, and I said, "I am a Patterson, I do not go to a mental doctor, my brain is fine, only the old and brain-damaged need to go to a doctor for that, like my Grandpa, but if you are able and your brain is intact, a good Richards or Patterson does not take psychiatrology stuff, all you need is the love of your family, especially hugs from your Mommy," and the ladies said, "You're right Miss Patterson, you don't need to go to the counselor, I don't think we can help you here," and I burst into tears and screamed, "Everybody rejects me! I'm never going to get a baby!" and one of the ladies cowered behind the other lady and said, "Miss Patterson, we don't want to fight!" and I whipped out my emergency folding frying pan that I keep in my coat and I screamed, "Well, I do!" and I waved it around and threatened them with the worst thing ever, I said, "If you ever need a friend, don't come looking for a Patterson!" and then I threw the frying pan at them and stormed away because I knew that never being a Patterson friend is a harsh punishment, they will never know the warm glow or the extreme riches that come from knowing a Patterson, fortunately for them I don't think they ever met one before me, so they won't know too much what they are missing.

    Liz

     
  • At 5:48 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    omg, liz, u shd send the ladies @ tht clinic a thank-you basket 4 not letting u breed with DAD or MIKE! ew, ew, ew! didn't the "train guy" or the "no gifts from mil guy" sort of ring a bell w/u?!?!?!?

    apes

     
  • At 6:55 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    April,

    Little sis. Clearly your imagination is getting the better of you. I am sure you if you think about it carefully, you would realize that no Patterson male would put their seed out for casual or indiscriminate use. A childhood sweetheart only is the rule for Patterson sperm placement. I am sure if you think about it a little bit, you will realize that dad is not the only man in Milborough with a train obsession. You may also know men who refuse gifts from their mother-in-law, if you put your mind to it. We Pattersons may model everything that is good and right in the world, but we don’t own a monopoly. There is good in the world aside from us, even though it is sometimes hard to see.

    For instance, the Sperm Salon employees clearly recognized Elizabeth and likewise realized the only sperm for her is childhood sweetheart sperm, and they were trying to avoid some sort of disastrous mistake with genetic mutations, which might have occurred otherwise. Can you imagine Liz claiming or taking care of a defective baby?

    On the positive side, at least Liz is spending her time pursuing options for her future which don’t involve sharp edges.

    Love,
    Michael Patterson

     
  • At 7:35 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    ok, mike, sure, that wasn't u an' it wasn't dad.

    ::wink::

    apes

     
  • At 8:05 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    april, i hadda innerestin’ study session 2day. i sat down w/my tutor zenobia barnaby in the library. she sed, “how wuz ur v-day, jeremy?” i sed, “it wuz good. i got sum good money 4 doin’ the sound @a v-day party & everythin’ went pretty well. the only hiccup wuz wen april patterson’s mom wuz gonna make her leave early cuz duncan anderson left & i hadda call up mrs. patterson & pretend i wuz duncan.” zenobia sed, “u can do a duncan imitation? lemme hear it.” i cleared my voice & sed, “man, oh man, mrs. p, u r the best mom evah!” zenobia laffed. she sed, “did it work?” i sed, “4 a little while. it bought april & gerald anothah hour.”

    then zandra larson looked ovah me, i think cuz i did the duncan imitation. then she looked back @the person she wuz tutorin’ who i think wet hiz pants, cuz he looked scared. i sed, “she looks awful.” zenobia sed, “she looks like the walkin’ dead. i’m so jealous. i cud nevah get that look no matter how much white makeup i use.” i sed, “do i wanna know wut happed?” zenobia sed, “i dunno. do u wanna try 2b a rebound guy?” i sed, “ur not talkin’ ‘bout basketball, rite?” zenobia sed, “kill me dead if i evah do.”

    i sed, “i guess i don’t wanna know.” zenobia sed, “rite now, zandra feels like she’s been gutted & had new wiring put it. she’z rilly had a job done on ‘er, & u don’t wanna go near till the electrician has checked her out & declared her safe 2b turned on again.” i sed, “huh?” zenobia sed, “i’ve known zandra since she wuz sandra & i haven’t seen her this bad since her breakup with edmund gloucester.” i sed, “who?” zenobia, “old bf. u gotta unnerstand w/zandra every relationship iz a big investment she hopes will pay off eventually. but there r penalties 4 payin’ off an investment 2 early, eh?”

    i sed, “i have no idea wut ur talkin’ ‘bout.” zenobia sed, “alright, jeremy. lemme give u an xxample. ur a guy & u wanna mpress & girl who iz rilly n2 literature. do u write her a poem or grovel?” i sed, “i stink @poems, so i wud grovel.” zenobia sed, “good choice. play 2 ur strengths. second question. wut do u give a girl who’z n2 literature 4 v-day? a book she wunts but duzn’t have or a moldy saxophone?” i sed, “book, rite?” zenobia sed, “rite. & the girl is gonna go 2 university, do u propose 2 her b4 she’z outa senior secondary or do u propose wen she’s close 2 gettin’ outa university?” i remember makin’ this mistake b4 last year & i sed, “definitely @university, unless she haz sum kinda family trait which sez she haz 2 have @least 1 adventure az a single b4 she gets married, & then u w8 till aftah the adventure iz ovah.” zenobia sed, “u had me @university. i dunno ‘bout this adventure stuff.”

    then there wuz a moment of awkward silence az we saw zandra’s tutee go runnin’ frum the library cryin’. zenobia turned 2 me & sed, “so, jeremy, wut do hafta do 4 tutorin’ 2day?” i sed, “i gotta rite a luv poem 4 english. this is wut i have so far.” then i showed my paper 2 her. it sed:

    a dead, dead rose
    o my love's like a dead, dead rose.
    that's blackly hung in march;
    o my love's like a wrinkled shirt
    that's sweetly ironed with starch.

    as hott are you, my freaky girl,
    so deep in love am i;
    and i will love even when i hurl,
    till my stomachs all gone dry.

    till my stomachs all gone dry, my dear,
    and your bod melts me like the sun:
    i will love you still, my dear,
    while your father chases and i run.

    and swear at me well my only love!
    and swear at me well a while!
    and i will come again, my love,
    over one or ten thousand miles!


    zenobia sed, “thass not totally awful. i’ve seen worse. u shud c the 1 zandra got 2day.” i sed, “my poem wuz supposed 2b in the style of robert burns.” zenobia sed, “rite.” then zenobia told me lotsa stuff ‘bout robert burns’ style. that wuz pretty much it 4 tutorin’ 2day.

     
  • At 8:48 PM, Blogger howard said…

    April,

    Becky and I had a great Valentine’s Day dinner, despite the fact that her mother, Krystle and Dr. Ted McCaulay kept hanging about hoping for leftovers. Dr. Ted said several times (until I couldn’t stand to hear it any more), “Howard. Do you want to sell your meal? I’ll give you a good price. Even some of the half-eaten food would be nice.” I sometimes forget the effect of really fine cooking on people. Becky even proposed to me when I served the soufflé, and I had to remind her we were already engaged. Krystle and Dr. McCaulay finally left after I gave them what Becky and I were too full to eat. Then they went on their own Valentine’s Day date.

    After they left, I had gotten Becky into the bubble bath with all the specially-scented oils I had special-ordered and it was at this point, I think I realized I had severely miscalculated the power of scented oils with the smell of well-cooked food, because Becky’s giant dog Freyfaxi, burst through the outside door and immediately went over to the bathtub and started being romantic with the faucet. He was shortly joined by Becky’s other 2 dogs, Zeus and Apollo, who had their way with other plumbing fixtures.

    Becky was trapped under the massive Freyfaxi, and was fortunately not the object of his interest, or she might have been seriously injured. She started shrieking for me to get Freyfaxi out of the bathtub, but it was not possible. He was entrenched in the faucet and he was too wet, slippery and freakishly strong to move. I managed to slide Becky out from under the side of Freyfaxi, just as the faucet broke off taking a good portion of the wall and the plumbing with it. That particular motion was enough to satisfy Freyfaxi and as many men do in those kinds of situations, he rolled over and went to sleep. Unfortunately, he rolled on top of Becky and me and pinned us to the floor. So we were trapped there with water spraying out of the wall, Becky naked and soapy, me wearing my flowered bathrobe and also quite soapy, Freyfaxi on top of us happily sleeping, and the two dogs Zeus and Apollo were howling and abusing porcelain.

    And then in walks Becky’s dad Thorvald with a woman I have never met before. He said, “Hoskuld. Bergthora. I decided the great Icelandic holiday of Valentine’s Day would be a good time to introduce you to my new sweetheart, but I did not mean to catch you in the midst of your most unusual romantic loving. What is that on Freyfaxi, Hoskuld?” I said, “Bathtub faucet and part of the wall.” The unknown woman said, “You are very lucky to be uninjured. Bishop Ketill Þorsteinsson of Hólar died when bathing in the warm springs at Laugarás in Biskupstungur, on a visit to the see of Skálholt in 1145 as was recounted in the saga Hungrvaka.” I said, “I doubt the Bishop’s problems were due to an unlikely combination of scents sexually exciting an overly-large dog.” The unknown lady said, “It is true the saga Hungrvaka did not mention any dogs involved in the Bishop’s death.” Becky said, “Fafa! Get Freyfaxi off me!”

    After some effort, we managed to get Freyfaxi to roll over so Becky and I could get up. We dried off and got dressed while Thorvald and the lady dealt with the dogs. I looked at the bathtub. I said, “We’ll need new plumbing. Freyfaxi gutted that wall.” Then we proceeded to have a little social hour with Thorvald and his new girlfriend. I would tell you about it, but I think Becky wants to be the one to tell you about the girlfriend and her name and whatever other details she cares to mention.

    Howard Bunt

     
  • At 9:10 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    i wd say there is way 2 much talk abt gutting 2 day, but i made the mistake of having dinner @ home 2nite after being away 4 several days an' eating real food. mom made one of her disgusting melted-cheese, sausage, and kraft-dinner casseroles, and it made me so sick that i puked my guts out, so i totally feel gutted. i'm back @ gramps an' iris's now cuz i remembered i don't wanna sleep in the st00pid rec room.

    apes

     
  • At 3:44 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    April,

    Little sis. I prefer trains and buses to go to work. I am a fan of the mass transit system. When I went to work from our old apartment, I used to I walk to the corner every morning and catch the 7 am bus to Glenn Ave. then hop the train into the city. It might be the influence of watching dad play with his trains for hours on end when I was growing up and just yesterday, but there's something about trains that makes one relax, turn inward, and think.

    After my visit with Josef Weeder and Lovey Saltzman, I realized that one of the really nice things about riding on a train to work is you don’t have to deal with corrupt parking lot attendants. Since the fire, I have had to drive to work from Milborough, and most times I get there early enough so I don’t have any problems with unshaven, unbathed, unkempt, undesirable parking lot employees who illegally fill any empty spots which are rented, in order to make extra money for themselves over and above what the person renting the spot has paid. On the day after my visit with Weed and Lovey, I went to work and arrived later than usual at the parking lot, and instead of getting to enjoy the voluptuous advertisement of the girl in the red one-piece swim suit advertising Martini Vodka, on a backdrop of what must be the world’s largest building using aluminum siding; I had to concentrate on the vile, little, orange-haired, obese, rank-smelling, pretentious-sunglasses-wearing attendant telling me “This parking lot is full, buddy.” I explained to him, “But…I have space number 12.” You would think that the word of a Patterson and my mention of a space by an actual number would make him realize he was incorrect about the parking lot being full, but he just stared at me blankly as if he were expecting me to back down and back up.

    So I had to explain to him further. I said, “Look. I’m renting that space from a guy called Chuck Haskins.” I said, “called” instead of “named”, because technically his name is Charles Haskins, but the parking lot attendant seemed to be a person with about as much intelligence as a special needs flea, so I didn’t want to confuse him with both names. It seemed to work, because he recognized Chuck’s name, and said, “He never told me nothing.” Let me tell you little sis, the clear indication of gross stupidity is someone who uses a double-negative. Of course, “He never told me nothing” really means, “he told me something” but I was not about to explain a double-negative to a person who could neither appreciate nor understand it.

    Instead I got out of my car, walked around the barrier and pointed directly to space 12 and said, “That’s my space! I’m paying for it!” I was sure my physical presence would intimidate the man, but instead he came out of his parking lot attendant booth, to accost me. He said, “Sorry. I’ll need something on paper.”

    Little sis. I have been parking in Chuck Haskins’ space ever since the fire, but this is the first time I had to park there some other time than early in the morning, and it was the first time I needed to have something on paper. I was tempted to have a go at this filthy, disgusting, rancid, canker sore of a greedy, parking attendant; but I was reminded of the Patterson credo of passive aggression. So, I opened up my wallet and took out one of my $50 bills and I said, “50 bucks is ‘something on paper.’ and handed it to him. At last we had found a common language, the language of greed. He immediately reacted and pointed to the other man in the parking lot attendant booth and told him, “Hey! Move that car outta space 12!!!” And so he did.

    After I was finally parked, I went inside my building and a found a kindred spirit standing by the elevators. He had his hands in his pockets and said to me, “Man! Parking is expensive on this street!” I had to chime in with “You’re telling me!” Which is true, because that’s exactly what he was telling me. I had to grin and bear it, even though I was seething with thoughts of revenge. Fortunately, my weekly column is due soon and I have this sense that a certain parking lot attendant will find himself compared to a carrion bird, feeding on the carcasses of empty, already-rented, parking spaces.

    Revenge can be sweet, little sis. There are some columnists, who might take advantage of such an incident to write about Toronto Mayor David Miller and his desire to consider parking lot surcharges to help cut down on the number of cars being used and pollution being generated in the city. But such a writer as that is not Michael Patterson. Politics just muddies the waters. When you want to take someone down, you have to be much more specific.

    Little sis, I can tell you that the rest of my day after that also did not go very well, but I am not certain I can tell you it now, without ruining your day for you out of sympathy for me, so I will stop right here, and perhaps continue tomorrow.

    Love,
    Michael Patterson

     

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